


The heart of darkness is a tender thing indeed

by Ninhaoma



Series: Dressrosa [9]
Category: One Piece
Genre: Anxiety, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, PTSD, anxiety attack, if you squint there might be feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-12 05:02:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29129967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ninhaoma/pseuds/Ninhaoma
Summary: It’s the darkness of the night that keeps us sane under the harsh light of the day.An attempt at Doffy's point of view.
Relationships: Donquixote Doflamingo/Violet
Series: Dressrosa [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1751851
Comments: 3
Kudos: 13





	The heart of darkness is a tender thing indeed

The paving stones lay in expressionless patterns, interlocked in a never-ending dance of geometric figures, gently gathering heat. The street dogs lay panting in the shade of the market stalls, where owners had thrown sheets over their merchandise. The last vestiges of verdant greenery were being leeched from the trees, planted in an age long gone to both provide shade and to help regulate the water levels in the square.

Never ceasing its brutal attack on the defenceless piece of civic architecture, the sun, it seemed, was determined to burn. And as the tolling of the midday bells filled the air, people started closing down their shops and drawing shutters, readying themselves for the most ancient of customs derived from the power of the midday sun.

It was time for a siesta.

And Doflamingo was bored.

Utterly, entirely, wholly bored out of his mind.

The shichibukai was currently seated on the palace terrace by the pool, a splendid view over the palace square opening up below. The heat made him sluggish as the petty whispers of his executives filled the air around him, mere susurration of flies to be swatted away. His clothes felt wrong and itchy. The wine tasted like mud and his glasses chafed, pressing down on his nose in a most disagreeable manner. The shade of the palm trees didn’t seem enough to combat the heat rising from the plaza below and the water of the pool already looked too warm to enjoy. Not even the tinkling twittering of the birds gathered around him could help his ennui or alleviate the annoyance of his existence.

And his boredom wasn’t eased by the piercing glare of the sunlight. Sensitive eyes called for constant shade and the zenith of the sun’s daily journey was torture for him, calling forth itching and irritation, a constant twitch and need to scratch the very back of his eyes that he couldn’t do anything about. And with nothing else to think about, the itching had space to grow, slowly eating away at his sanity.

Most people and toys had disappeared by now except for an old lady, the sole marker of humankind, left to nap in the shade of the colonnade. The only sound stirring was the mindless tittering of tongues without anything worthwhile to say, pestering him with their mindlessness.

He was on the verge of leaving, but for a sudden movement that drew his attention back to the sizzling square.

_Violet._

Swaying hips mesmerised him as light steps led the young woman across the plaza. Where she came from, he didn't know, neither where she was going. His entire focus was fixed on the smooth fabric clinging to her ample curves, the cloth moving in hypnotic arcs as her dainty feet stepped, almost skipped, from stone to stone on her way towards the safety of the shade of the surrounding arcade. He could almost feel the fabric, flowing under sensitive fingers. Her dark braid swung down her bare back, caressing the curve of her spine revealed by the cut of her dress, its shimmering whiteness blinding in the sun and highlighting the warm glow of her skin. She clutched an overflowing basket in her arms, filled with vegetables and fruits, its spoils gathered before the siesta began and the shops closed down for the resting period.

Doflamingo gritted his teeth as she stopped for the butcher’s call and cursed him silently for having the gall to call out to her. He watched as she halted for a moment, her easy laugh reaching effortlessly across the dead midday air. The grip on his glass was almost painful as he followed her taking her leave of the cad, merely a breath of relief before the next interloper demanded her attentions.

She was popular. Everyone knew her by sight; she was one of the best dancers around and her graceful movements were a simple joy to take a moment's delight in. Both young and old alike were drawn to her and her easy laugh and limitless patience, always finding a moment to spare for everyone. There was something in the effortless way she seemed to know your innermost secrets and a timbre in her voice that seemed to promise to refrain from judgment and to keep those secrets concealed and safe.

The fact that she actually _knew_ people's innermost secrets didn't need to become common knowledge.

He could almost see the laughter in her eyes, the crinkles forming in their corners as her lovely mouth curled up in a smile at something the baker's boy said, her teeth sometimes clasping her plump lower lip in an effort not to laugh out loud.

It was too long since he had the woman in his bed. He could almost feel her in his arms as he watched her.

And he'd have to keep an eye on that boy.

Her eyes might be his favourite part of her. The dark depths in the night, calming as a wine-drenched sea or a barrel of mead from Elbaf, calling him like the old fishermen’s tales of sirens calling sailors to their doom. The light and sparkle in the day, like honey and amber and molten caramel. The way they mirrored everything and nothing.

The way she saw him as he was, no secrets between them.

He didn't know why she sometimes went out by herself. It wasn't as if the palace staff didn't keep the larders full. But she disappeared every now and then, only to return with arms laden with tomatoes and garlic and freshly baked bread. Sometimes the exchange went the other way, noticed only when the cook grumbled about dwindling stores and missing ingredients. But that was seldom and it was almost never that whispers of those occurrences reached the family's ears.

Sharp eyes followed Violet's every movement when she skipped around the square, his present surroundings entirely forgotten.

How he wished he could keep her in the palace all the time, never letting her out of his sights.

 _Mine;_ a weak snarl in the back of his head reared its ugly head.

A graceful hand suddenly touched his arm only to be swatted away, his attentions never leaving the dark-haired beauty now talking with the old woman who had so recently been asleep. Another hand, nails painted a beguiling red, threaded through his hair as the owner leaned against him, pressing tantalising curves against his side, murmuring suggestions of where they could take their siesta, but a tight grip on a slender arm and a cold sneer took care of such propositions. The rest of the pretty birds soon got the message and dispersed, twittering growing fainter and fainter before he was alone with Diamante and Trebol.

His family. The only one he could trust, the ones he never had a harsh word to say to. The ones who had never given him reason to do so.

"Ne, Doffy, why did you send them off like that?" Trebol asked, even his voice, usually a calming and familiar sound, grating on Doflamingo's fraying temper in the mounting heat.

"Yeah, Doffy, what's wrong? You're usually up for sharing and the blonde one seemed like just the right type," Diamante said.

"You're such a catch, you know the women will flock to you without me." Doflamingo's heart wasn't in it, his usual reassurances feeling flat in his mouth. If Diamante just could smarten up and do something about his inferiority complex... Usually Doflamingo was more than happy to build him up from the emotional valleys he fell into, but not today. Not when the sun scorched his neck and the air itself was a dead weight on the whole world and his eyes felt like the dry air itself had somehow condensed into tiny shards of pure heat and light, prickling and itching and twitching.

Not when he hadn’t touched Violet in far too long and craved her like a drowning man craves air.

His glass was empty. A frown drew his brows together as he regarded the light scattering in the glass, in turn spreading out small rainbows and then focusing the rays of the sun as he turned it in his hand. The bottle had warmed up, ruining the rest. No idea in chilling the wine down again, it was done for. A wry smile tugged at his mouth as he remembered how incensed Violet had been the last time—

Violet.

A glance at the plaza confirmed his lazy suspicion.

She was gone once more.

But he knew when he’d see her once more and wouldn't have to wait for too long either. With that fortifying thought held behind his smile, he turned back to his executives and the matters of running both a country and an underground organisation at the same time.

You could say a great many things about Donquixote Doflamingo, and his vices were even more plentiful than that, but idleness was not among them.

-_-_-

She had such impeccable manners.

He never could get enough of the precise bites she took of her food, the perfect timing of eating, talking and listening she managed. The difference to the others was jarring, highlighted the by the disgrace of Trebol beside her talking through his meals and how Baby 5, so eager to please in other respects, always seemed to forget herself around food. The young woman was currently stuck in an utterly undignified pose as she reached across Buffalo for seconds. Not even the manners to try and ask for what she wanted.

And not to mention Dellinger. He had taken to almost inhaling his food and what he ate nowadays made even Doflamingo queasy at times.

He'd have to take that up with Giolla. His family should at least possess the basic manners of civilised society.

But Violet...

His gaze found her once more. Arms tucked in neatly at her sides, she seemed engrossed by whatever it was the older woman beside her was saying, nodding along as she took a measured sip of wine as red as her lips. He could watch that mouth for ever, with that lovely cupid's bow framing a surprisingly dirty mouth and lips that were made to be wrapped around his cock.

A jolt shot through his stomach to said cock as the tip her pink tongue slipped out to catch a drop of wine at the corner of her mouth and he almost groaned out loud.

It was almost as bad as when she called him 'Young Master'.

If he didn't know better, he would suspect she did it on purpose. But her attention had never left the discussion she was so obviously engrossed in, eyes not even flickering in his direction.

She had grown magnificently in the years since he claimed his birthright.

Long gone was the waif begging for her father’s life with tears in her eyes. In her stead sat a poised young woman with a small smile playing along painted lips, her full figure most pleasingly accentuated by her dress.

The same dress she'd worn in the square. Which would, could, flow smoothly, softly, under his fingers, almost like a prayer to be answered.

Pooling around her legs, the delicate skin bared in its wake shining in the moonlight.

Smooth touches and soft kisses and prayers wrenched from her lips.

Another jolt shot straight to his cock.

Many a strong pirate had wanted to join his crew throughout the years. Some, he allowed to fly his banner. Some, he just ignored and some… he made examples of. But no-one had yet achieved the highest of honours. No one had joined his crew, not after Monet and Sugar.

His eyes rested on Violet then, for a moment.

She had proven herself throughout the years. She was loyal and capable and a terrific lay, although he really didn't want to mix business with pleasure. But if anyone could handle such an act, it was her.

He had expected her to break, truth be told.

He had expected her to crumble under the burden and to, sooner or later, dissolve into tears and prayers for mercy and then there probably would have been some unpleasant but necessary violence and the end of the Riku family.

But she had merely looked straight through him, read him like a book and placed her life in his hands.

And had served him and the family faithfully since then.

Such trust and loyalty should be rewarded.

The candlelight made her hair shimmer in tones of ebony and the darkest chocolate, caramel eyes once more crinkling at the corners where she laughed at something Giolla said. Her scent, earthy and fresh and fruity all at the same time seemed to tease him all the way across the table; he loved it. He knew how it changed depending on the day or even the time of day; the sleepy tenors of morning and the overtones of sweat and musk when he fucked her. The fresh tint of lemon and lime when she showered and the never-ending scent of flowers that trailed in her wake. He loved her scent. He also loved the feel of her plump lips beneath his own and all the small noises she made as he unravelled her…

A deep breath and Doflamingo let the calming presence of his family washed over him before he dragged the woman out for a shag against the nearest wall.

Buffalo and Baby 5 were laughing at something, half-hiding behind their glasses. It would be interesting to see how much more Buffalo would grow; he was already taller than Doflamingo himself and showed no sign of stopping anytime soon. And Baby 5, as soon as she got her mind on the right track, had proved to be an quick learner. They complimented each other well.

But every now and then there was a shadow beside them; a glance to the side or a third chair, left empty by mistake. A frozen laugh as they realised there was no-one there to glare at their antics and that the one they waited for was long gone.

He shook his head to dislodge that particular thought. No idea in dragging up old ghosts. Besides, Law seemed to be doing well over in North Blue if his sources were to be believed. He'd come back one day, once he got that independent phase out of his system.

He'd remember who his family was.

The high-pitched sound of Dellinger's laughter made the corner of his mouth quirk up. Maybe his manners could be better, but everything was worth it to hear him laugh with a full belly. It was nice to be able to give the small child a stable home. And even better to be able to offer a secure food-supply. He could still remember the clawing, gnawing hunger that used to plague his days and drove him and—

_Home?_

He clutched his wine glass in his hand, barely able to pay attention to Diamante's words beside him. It took almost all the strength he had, all his focus and concentration, to force himself to filter out the unnecessary apologetics and self-deprecation and deal with the executive's, his friend's, _his family's_ , concerns.

_Doffy._

He barely noticed when the glass shattered in his grip or the frantic noises Giolla made as she called for the servants to take care of the Young Master, how horrible it all was and how the quality of the glassware really was subpar—

_You want… home?_

He agreed with Giolla and put her in charge of getting new china. And then he left, not bothering to apologise to Diamante beside him for the sudden interruption.

But not even the cool night air outside the heavy castle walls was enough to rein in the tension in his bones.

_What is home? Is this it?_

And to be honest, he didn’t know the answer.

He had heard so much about Dressrosa when growing up; about the poor land of passion and flowers and dance. About a place where people had to look at the flowers because the food didn’t grow; a place that hadn’t seen might or glory since the Donquixotes had left.

_You can't build a home like this._

He had _saved_ this place.

The stone under his hands cut into his hands. The heat of the day was still radiating out from them, escaping its daytime prison. They'd soon be cold and start to gather the chill of the night instead.

He had made the people rich beyond their wildest dreams.

_And you can't build a family like that. Not by judging them on loyalty and trust._

Cold night air froze his airways and he couldn’t draw breath, the air escaping before he got it into his lungs.

 _She won't be yours. Not really_ , the wheedling voice that sometimes came out whispered in a tone tinged red with malice.

His grip on the balustrade tightened.

 _You're old, Doflamingo_.

The voice had a deep timbre to it, a recollection of ages past. An image flickered past him, intangible as the starlight above; shaggy blond hair and crinkled brown eyes and a mouth set in serious lines that melted into the shadows as soon as he tried to focus.

_And what have you to show for it? A decade as the puppeteer of a wilting nation and ghosts that just won't leave you alone._

He tried to focus on his breathing, imagining Violet there beside him, holding his hand. Her bright eyes the centre of his attention—

But then black feathers danced past him and her face cracked from side to side and splintered into a thousand fragments, glittering as they dissolved in discordant chitter. Doflamingo buried his head in his hands, gasping for a breath that didn't come.

_You always thought you were better than all, but what are you really? A man who doesn't know his next step, doesn't know how to get what he wants. What did you become, Doffy?_

He tried to focus on the sky and the stars that were coming out.

_The New Age isn't anything for old dreamers like you._

Anything to escape the crushing certainty that he was lost, unmoored and just drifting on the waves, awaiting the dawning era.

_It's just a dream and you know what happens when you wake up._

"Shut up," he gasped, the air still unable to enter his tortured lungs.

"Thinking of something?" her soft voice suddenly echoed behind him, an amused lilt to her polite inquiry.

Violet.

Always, everywhere.

In the corner of his eye as he returned from Marineford or her steps echoing in the halls. By the eternal smell of the colourful flowers she loved to wear in her hair and the taste of her skin on his tongue, the ghost of her curves in his arms.

Suddenly the air flowed freely again, filling his lungs in gulping breaths.

"Is everything all right?" she asked in what he wanted to believe was a concerned tone, taking his large hand in her dainty grip and gently prying his fingers open.

Funny that. He hadn't even noticed that he'd closed them hard enough for his nails to cut into his palms, leaving bloody crescents in their wake.

Her hand was so soft and warm. Her fingers, loosely clasped around his hand, were battling the chill of the night that had started crawling over him without the slightest warning.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

A useless question, but he appreciated her asking, nevertheless.

Her nails, catching against the ridges and creases formed by a long life as she ran her fingers over his knuckles.

 _You are old_.

Strong fingers, wrapping around his as she felt a tremor.

Her bright eyes filled the sky as he clasped her hand, feeling the warmth streaming through her, filling him. He almost felt sorry for taking her warmth and comfort like this.

But he couldn’t.

Not when she finally was there beside him, her presence calming the storm inside him, pacifying the tempest and soothing the waves to gentle swells.

Not when she was here with her knowledge of him, of all his secrets and the hidden nooks and crannies of his mind. Not when she had seen what was in his head and still chose to stay, day after day.

He didn’t know what had made her seek him out, in this moment, this night of them all. It had been so long since her scent had last wrapped itself around him, since her eyes had seen through him and her hands had moored him to the present.

Night gathered around the pair as they stood in silence, listening to the last evening sounds from the town die down and giving way to the soft churring of the nightjars.

The soothing movements of her hand stilled. He could still feel the pads of her fingers ghosting over his skin, anchoring him.

A shudder racked through him and he threw a long arm over her shoulders, ignoring her startled gasp as he drew her close, sinking into her warmth. Her hair, shimmering in tones of darkness and night now, only illuminated by the starlight above, smelled like rain and the flowers he never bothered to learn the names of and sunlight and warmth.

Like home.

For a moment, they were all that existed.

"I know what will take your mind off that track," she said, still looking out over the flickering city lights.

Her hand still held him grounded, tethered to the ground. Her scent filled his world and her warmth drove the shadows and feathers away, quieted the long-lost voice of a ghostly past.

She twisted in his embrace, her full mouth turning up in a teasing half-smile.

A matching grin spread over Doflamingo’s face, his fingers dropping down to caress the bare skin of her arm.

”Whatever do you mean, carinho?”

Her hands had migrated to the front of his shirt, running lightly over it where it framed his broad chest, feather-light touch causing muscle to ripple in its wake.

”Oh, nothing much, _Young Master_ ,” she purred with hooded eyes, nimble fingers grasping his shirt as she drew him to her and his cock jolted awake. “You just seemed so very tense up by the pool earlier today and then that whole thing during dinner.. terribly uncouth. You clearly have some pent-up energy to let out.”

"You did it on purpose, you minx," he drawled, fingers tangled in her hair forcing her head back so he could read the amusement evident on her pretty face.

"Of course. You have to be more discreet with your staring, otherwise anyone could do what I just did."

"Anyone," he exhaled, his other hand wrapping around her slim waist. "I don't think so, querida. You're the only one I've had my eyes on for a while now."

A sceptical eyebrow was accompanied by a smile, as demure and prim as that of a shark. "I'll believe that when I see it."

He tilted her head up, letting his thumb brush over her cheek. Her skin was cool under his touch, smooth like the silk of her dress. He barely noticed the change in texture as his fingers dropped lower, travelling over the edge of her dress, following the curve of her shoulder.

Her pink tongue peeked out again to wet her lips, the same pink tongue that had played its part in his early departure from dinner. He pulled her against his body, his renewed arousal evident as he pressed against her. Her amusement shone in her eyes now as she let her tongue swipe over her lower lip slowly.

She would be the death of him.

He pressed a soft kiss to her lips, the sliver of a gap between them closing as he pulled her flush against him, making sure she could feel his cock between them. A gasp escaped her at the sudden movement and Doflamingo, being the embodiment of opportunism, took the chance offered and slipped his tongue inside her mouth.

Violet’s hands were caught between them, splayed open as she answered his assault with equal fervour. He could feel her breaths becoming shallow against his chest as a blush spread over her generous cleavage. A rumbling chuckle was tempered by a sharp nip, her tongue soothing in its wake.

Doflamingo let his hands wander as he sank into the kiss. He loved Violet’s curves and knew exactly what spots would make her gasp, which touch would make her breath catch in that delicious throat and how to make her whimper.

He let his hand roam over her bare back, reminding himself to thank the tailor for such a visionary choice in dress design. Her head fell to the side as he kissed and nipped up her jawline to catch the lobe of hear ear in his teeth, all the while letting his hands play over the edge of her dress, dropping dangerously close to the delectable curve of her arse.

Her whimper turned into a moan as he sucked hard on the delicate skin at the base of her neck, his frantic fingers finding their way to the buttons of her dress. Strong hands turned her in his embrace, her arse now pressed against his crotch. He ground his massive body against hers, pressing her into the rough stone wall as he worked her dress lose, letting it fall to the ground around her.

They had done this dance countless times before, but he had always been careful not to leave marks, never marring her fair skin. Permanence had never been an option for them. She needed to be seen as unblemished in order to play her part, in order to be able to fluster young men and women with tender smiles and quiet laughs. And he never marked anyone as his own.

But now they had found each other again. Neither was backing down this time, afraid to attach too much meaning to anything. She was his and he was hers, if only for this moment.

For once, they could trail burning touches and twist gasping breaths from each other, heedless of the future. Like they belonged to each other.

His long fingers tangled in her hair, the dark tresses flowing like water between them. He drew a gasp from her throat when he drew her head back and angled it just so, dragging his teeth along her jugular. She hissed a curse as he bit down again, before lapping at the tender patch of skin.

And when he pushed her against the moon-drenched parapet, Violet arched into Doflamingo, her eyes fluttering shut as her head dropped back on his shoulder.

 _Mine_ , a triumphant outcry in his head.

She moaned as he slipped two fingers into her. She painted the most beautiful picture with her dress pooled around her feet, standing with legs spread and her breasts pressed against the cold stone.

 _But you can’t have her_ , a vicious whisper followed up. _Not really._

Doflamingo bit down on her shoulder, sucking harshly at the smooth expanse of skin. The balustrade and his fingers in her cunt were the only things keeping her up at this point, a whimper escaping her as he withdrew to admire the darkening skin. His fingers were still teasing her, sliding in and out of her slick cunt to a familiar rhythm as his thumb circled her clit. Somehow, her hands had found their way to the front of his trousers and were making quick work of the fastening.

 _This is just a dream_.

With a grunt, he pushed into her, her hot cunt taking him deep, its welcoming warmth fitting him like a glove. He held her hips with one hand as he fucked her, the other reaching around to play with her, teasing her clit. He knew what made her come undone. Sharp gasps filled the air as his cock and hand found a familiar rhythm and he could see the tension start to gather in the curve of her spine.

_And sooner or later..._

With a sigh, she came apart under him, her orgasm racking through her. Only then did he let his own release forth, coming deep in her sweet heat.

She turned in his arms, pulling him down for a bruising kiss.

... _you’ll wake up._

Permanence was never an option. But in the dark, they could pretend.

**Author's Note:**

> …I might have a short part two outlined, but not sure if I should post it as a chapter or a separate fic. We'll see what comes of it.


End file.
